The Murderer's Lullaby
by Era Daven
Summary: She had believed the aphorism that all things happen for a reason, but perhaps the good things only exist to balance out the bad things--or vice versa. Maybe a better excuse is to credit Murphy’s Law when things go bad. At least then it’s not your fault.


The Murderer's Lullaby

_A _Red Eye_ fan fiction by Era Daven_

_Rating:_ M. Sorry, kiddies...

**A/N:** I do not take credit for anything from the film _Red Eye_. Hey, if I owned the original story, it would have _never_ ended the way it did! And the bathroom scene? Hehehe…Anywho, I wanted to get this chapter up as soon as possible; so if you happen to find some mistakes, I will be trying to edit the story over the weekend. College sucks up just about all your fun time, so you'll be lucky if you see the second chapter before the week after next.

Chapter I – Murphy's Law

**L**isa Riesert had always shared in the belief that some would deem a cliché and unproven ideal that all things happen for a reason. According to most Christian philosophy, these "things" occur in retribution: the good things or fortunate experiencesviewed as blessings, taken as a small proof that living worthy and just, is _the_ ticket to mortal and immortal happiness and well-being; and the bad things…well, one would have to divide again to find the meaning by the optimistic Christians who accept difficulties as tests of their soul's resistance to strike down and curse their god in times of adversities when it seemed he had all but turned his back completely. The pessimistic Christianssaw the bad things as punishment for committing some sin they themselves can not realize or recall. Then there are the ones with neutral views on the subject, accepting an inconvenience or misery as a catalyst to avoid an ever greater misfortune. Some create delusions, surrendering to their pain anddrawing upon it in order to believe that it will somehow make them stronger in the end. Perhaps the good things only exist to balance out the bad things or vice versa. Every negative has an equal positive value, right? Maybe a better excuse is to credit Murphy's Law when things go bad. At least then it's not your fault.

But even with acknowledgement to that bit of philosophy, after having had the tendency since childhood, why on earth would Lisa Riesert have not rememberedto double check the lock on her apartment door before leaving for work? She had practically done this forever: gone back andmade certain that thesimple but potentially dangerous if left undone tasks such as unplugging the coffee pot, hair setter, turning off the burners, etc. had been checked before exiting the house. So what had been so different about that Wednesday morning to distract her from exercising habit? She hadn't been running late or carrying much, the cell phone hadn't been ringing, her neighbors weren't out and about to say hi, and she hadn't felt sleepy still or sick. Yet on this morning, not only did Lisa not double check the door, she completely disregarded locking it.

The act of absentmindedness did not register itself later that afternoon at work or even as she stood on her doormat and locked the door instead as she turned the key. Perplexity fogged her mind as she pulled it out with a _clink_ and tried again.

The building's landing, bright with the light of the outdoor wall sconces, was desolate, open to the gentle evening breezes from the balcony to her left. She shivered slightly from the chill penetratingthe sheer fabric of herdress and more likely, from her singular presence in the empty corridor. In all the time she had lived there—roughly seven months—she hadn't seemed frightened, living alone in a new neighborhood, but only miles from her dad. Standing there, she made herself believe she had no reason to be now. Furrowing her brow, she tried to remember as to why she would have forgotten her ritual task. No reasons came to mind.

_Perhaps maintenance had to repair something important_, she reasoned. After all, it was _that _kind of housing community. One where practically everyone knows your business and you never can be assured of absolute privacy. One where the maintenance has the right to enter you house at any time with or without permission if there is a technical emergency. Hell, what could she expect when she saw the cigarette butts on the wooden planks, heard the woman next door singing in the shower every morning at seven a.m. and dogs barking all night long?

Producing at least one excuse for this nerve-wracking phenomenon did succeed, if slightly, to visibly placate part of her building anticipation. Cautiously, she pushed the door open to the tiny glow of the nightlight in the kitchenette. No other sound or light assaulted her senses. Quickly she moved through the room, flipping on the light switches with a speed and agility worthy of any undercover agent. She had left the front door unlocked in case she had to make a fast escape. She scanned the surrounding space for evidence of company. Nothing. Her stomach contracted and she felt queasy. A gut feeling? Certainly fit the description. A woman's intuition at work. Lisa definitely felt that _something_ was awry…and she _did_ have good reason to react in such a manner after the two life-impacting terrors she had experienced not long after each other.

Her sitting room furniture was modest and practical in layout, so if what she was dreading to find had been the cause of her own little mystery could not be hiding behind any of it…waiting to pounce out unexpectedly on her trembling stance once she turned her back with a butcher knife or some other hellishsharp creation designed for more than just chopping carrots.

"Oh God," she shuddered, trying so hard to will herself away from wild, vicious trains of bloody premonitions that ended with her pressed against a wall with a blade to her throat. Suddenly she decided on her courage and grabbed a knife from a drawer in the kitchen, raising it to strike, and crept into the bedroom. A careful glance into the empty closet and then under the bed gained some points of relief. All that was left now was the bathroom. Who might be hiding, waiting behind the shower curtain? She stood before it with bated breath. The whole little misadventure had to be dredging up some far from lovely, happy memories for her. But another sigh of relief issued forth from her lungs at finding the tub vacant, and she relaxed and dropped the hand holding the knife to her side. She even found the resource within herself to laugh at absurdity in the levels of fear she had slid through in the past ten minutes, however breathlessly. She smiled a nervous smile as she turned to the short hallway that ran from the bathroom back into her bedroom. Out the corner of her eye she caught the shadow that grew larger, closing in on her before she could raise her head. A muscular force shot against her back, pushing her face-forward and ripped the knife away from her, tearing into her palm some of the action's friction. A hand slid under and over her mouth as she cried out in surprise and pain after her head made contact with the projecting corner of the hallway wall. Heat flooded against her cheek as her assailant spoke.

"Hello again, Lisa," a male voice cooed into her ear. "I know you're just so excited to see me, but we wouldn't want to alert the neighbors for no reason, okay?"

She knew the voice.

She knew the voice truthfully more than any other. It was the voice that bade her to twist and turn and quake within her nightmares. It was the voice that often reminded her of its owner's vengeance whenever she wanted to feel safe. It was the voice she longed to forbid access to her hearing but found herself thinking of like a song whose words she had forgotten. The sound of it was a murderer's lullaby.

She responded to him involuntarily by tensing up through her uncontrollable fear, immobile to her own muscle's demands. Her legs begin to give up their support, and she had to press against the wall to keep from falling down. The cut in her hand slicked a red blur onto the white paint.

"Good, be still and quiet, and I won't have to give you any more of these nasty knocks on the head." He moved his hand from her mouth to smear away the thickening trail of blood from her forehead, whileshe sucked in her breath in short gasps.

"How are you…here…? I…saw you…die…I watched your eyes…fade…" She choked. Was there something like…remorse clutching those words?

He pulled her around to face him, but she shut her eyes and dropped her head away from him.

"Your version sounds awfully romantic, Leese," he remarked mockingly, lifting her chin sharply. "Like a hole shot right through the heart…"

"No…it's not," she whispered, and he outstretched his fingers caressingly on her cheek. "I killed you." Her eyes flew open with an almost possessed-like glare of terror and hate, only glistening through a thick layer of unshed tears as her emotions finally overwhelmed her. "You should be dead."

His hypnotic blue gaze staredwith a disturbing calminto hers, barely interrupted by blinking. "Obviously, you didn't succeed. I'm not dead. But you did cause me a lot of discomfort and anguish and a burning desire to fulfill a personal vendetta. Oh, and by the way, you weren't even the one to almost kill me; that was your dad's doing. So you can go ahead and clear your conscious; I know that's the only thing really bugging you. A woman like you could never have the real capability to kill or win out against a man. She just manages to mess everything up…" he ranted as he gripped her chin harder and pushed his knee roughly between her legs as she began to squirm between him and the wall, "…with her stupid little games of hormone-driven ingenuity and battles for control by wit."

"Yeah, but it worked for me, didn't it!" she retorted.

His eyes narrowed and hardened, his anger clear, but he let the comment pass. "I did promise you we'd talk again." Fury flared inside him at the past prospect of having to pull a deeply lodged pen from his throat and the moment before it had happened when he had actually felt sympathetic toward her. His jaw clenched, and he grabbed her neck in his fist.

"So you're back to kill me?" She coughed out. "To claim you beat a woman? I told you once you're pathetic. I'd say it a million times…I'd scream it!" Her nerve to defy was driven full-force by the desire to hit him, kick him, or do whatever to him to make him hurt like he had her. Taken aback, he saw this and lessened his vice-like grip but didn't let go altogether. His face returned to its previous unreadable state. He leaned in even closer, causing her body to shiver with his contact, and brought his face right up against hers so that their noses actually touched. Of course,she tried to pull away automatically, aware of his unpredictable intentions, but he held her fast.

"I never said I wanted to kill you," he whispered. "But I_ am_ going to make your life a living hell. Consider it thanks for all your fucking interference in my life a year ago." He pressed a finger to her lips as she tried to reply. "Oh, shush now; don't worry," he murmured and glided his free hand's fingertips precisely down and up the entire length of her side. "We'll have plenty of time for talk and for you to argue later."

* * *

**A/N:** CLIFFIE! Aw, loves, please forgive me for it; I really do despise them myself. But, hey, at least there's now a reason for you to continue reading…and I promise this isn't just gonna be another one of those plots built up just for an excuse to have the characters get it on. I'm not into the girl-eventually-gives-in/rape "romance" stories that seem to be popular these days. 

For those of you who were not clever enough to notice, I designed this from Jackson's perspective, like he had written it. The boy is OBSESSED! Oh, and incidentally, the chapter title has no deliberate reference to Cillian Murphy…Yeah, well,I think that's suspicious too.

I hope you enjoyed this first chapter, and if you did, you have my full permission to anticipate what will happen next.

Until then!

XOXOXO,

Era


End file.
